


The Twilight Zone I: Death Mask

by BradyGirl_12



Series: The Twilight Zone [1]
Category: Public Enemies (2009), Twilight Zone
Genre: Challenge Response, Challenges, Community: Guns_Fedoras Public Enemies Challenges, Established Relationship, Halloween, Holidays, Horror, M/M, Male Slash, Prompt Fic, Slash, Twilight Zone - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-24
Updated: 2011-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Halloween, J. Edgar Hoover finally pays for his crimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Twilight Zone I: Death Mask

**Author's Note:**

> Series Notes: This series will collect stories from different fandoms that fit the _Twilight Zone_ theme. Entries can be found [here.](http://bradygirl-12.livejournal.com/928731.html)  
>  Spoilers: For the movie, natch. :)  
> Original LJ Date Of Completion: September 28, 2009  
> Original LJ Date Of Posting: October 26, 2009  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal does, more’s the pity.  
> Original LJ Word Count: 2340  
> Feedback welcome and appreciated.  
> Written for my [2009 Guns_Fedoras Public Enemies Fic/Art Halloween Challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/guns_fedoras/16421.html). _Option 1: (Elements of Halloween used set in or around Halloween: Masks, Spirits, **The Twilight Zone)**._ Enjoy! :)

_“You're traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That's the signpost up ahead — your next stop, **The Twilight Zone.”**_

  


**October 31, 1960**  


_“Observe, a man of meticulous habits: J. Edgar Hoover is Director of the F.B.I., a man who holds power because he knows how to utilize the seamier underside of it. He has stolen, blackmailed, and killed in the name of grasping and keeping power._

_He will finish his paperwork, go home where his partner Clyde is waiting, have dinner, and listen to music._

_Or perhaps not._

_Because on this night when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is thinnest, J. Edgar Hoover will finally meet his Night Of Reckoning, brought to him by...The Twilight Zone.”_

***cue _Twilight Zone_ music***

J. Edgar Hoover was looking forward to going home to Clyde. Clyde had felt under-the-weather, so had stayed home, but would be there waiting as always. First, though, the paperwork.

Hoover frowned as he heard laughter in the outer office. He opened the door and snapped, “Kindly keep your giddiness to yourself, Miss Brown.”

The young clerk flushed. “Yes, Director.”

The young man sitting on the edge of her desk quickly went back to his own desk.

He paused at the display case, which contained John Dillinger’s glasses, cigar, and gun taken from the body on that night so long ago. Caressing the glass, he smiled.

_Twenty-six years and it’s still a thrill to see these trophies._

He went back into his office, closing the door behind him. The Dillinger death mask was still in place on his bookshelf, an impressive trophy that never failed to attract attention.

He sat down behind his desk, picking up a file folder. Silly clerk. She was all excited about going to some Halloween ball. It shouldn’t matter what the date on the calendar said. You should still do your job.

The file was crammed full of information. All the candidates in the Presidential race had to be checked out. Time was running out, like the sands in an hourglass. The election was next week!

LBJ was a wily old plotter who knew where all the bodies were buried in the Senate. He also had cheated on his wife…

Not that it was an unusual thing for any of these politicians. They all cheated.

Dick Nixon was a paranoid who had been Eisenhower’s lapdog for eight years as Vice President. Well, Hoover had never liked him, either. He was too shifty, too phony, and that was saying something for a politician.

Jack Kennedy. This one was a serial adulterer. If he ever made it to the White House, America would be governed by a libertine, not to mention a member of the Popish religion. That ‘clan’ of his was loudmouthed Irish, and brother Bobby was a know-it-all bulldog, insisting that there was a Mafia and trying to make a name for himself by going after them. Old Joe knew where all the bodies were buried, too. Bad all around.

Henry Cabot Lodge was bland in that patrician way of his but there would be something to dig up. There always was.

When the new Administration came to power next January, he would be re-appointed.

These files would guarantee it.

Hoover read for another hour. It was dark outside his windows. He should have gone home by now, but this material was too good.

A cold blast of air ruffled the pages of the JFK file folder. Frowning, Hoover looked up.

His door was slightly ajar. He was certain he’d closed it.

He returned to his reading, but the door bothered him. He set aside the folder and got up and walked across the room, putting his hand on the doorknob and peering out.

The office was dark. Everyone had left. Good.

He was just about to close the door when he noticed the empty display case.

“What the hell!”

Dillinger’s glasses, cigar and gun were gone. Was this some kind of sick joke?

“Put these items back _at once!”_ he demanded.

Whoever was hiding wasn’t revealing himself. Disgusted, Hoover started to shout again when a gust of wind blew, scattering papers off desks.

It was an icy wind.

“Who’s there?”

There was no sound or movement. Hoover went back into his office. He would have to call Security…

His hand froze as he reached for the telephone…

The Dillinger death mask was gone.

Fury rose up in him. Who was playing tricks on him? Damn this holiday, anyway. Grown men and women giggling over childish things like costumes and séances and other nonsense.

Suddenly, his desk lamp went out. Cursing, he fished around for a candle and matches in his right-hand desk drawer. Damn his flashlight battery being dead and damn that he’d forgotten to get new batteries.

He stuck the candle in a copper holder and struck a match.

Light flickered on the walls, casting eerie shadows around the office. Hoover lifted the candle and the door slammed open, a gust of air blowing out the candle. With a curse, Hoover struck another match.

He nearly dropped the candleholder as he saw a figure flickering in the doorway.

A figure wearing a bloodstained white shirt and light-colored pants, a straw boater tilted rakishly on his head, pushing tinted tortoiseshell glasses down his nose as his lips curved into a trademark smirk.

“Evenin’, Director.”

The candlelight flickered as Hoover’s hand shook. “Who are you?” he demanded. “What sick trick is this?”

Golden motes of light swirled around the intruder, his posture relaxed.

“Oh, very slick, Director. No trick.”

“If you think you can dress up as John Dillinger just because it’s Halloween…”

“I didn’t dress up in costume.”

The smirk infuriated Hoover. The guy was good, he’d give him that.

“I’m calling Security.”

“Always get others to fight your battles, huh?”

Hoover sneered, “You’re pretty mouthy for a burglar.”

The intruder threw back his head and laughed. “Good one, Director!” His eyes focused on Hoover. “I’ve taken back what you took from me. Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to take other people’s things?”

“Oh, _that’s_ rich.” Hoover barked. _“You_ …I mean, the man you’re pretending to be…is lecturing _me_ about _stealing?”_

That damn smirk again.

“Well, I never took personal possessions off a dead man, Jayee.”

“How do you know my name? The way I…?”

“…signed your letters to Mel?”

“Mel?” Hoover’s eyes narrowed. “Pretty chummy, aren’t you? It’s _Melvin_ to you, imposter.”

“You’re really a stubborn guy, aren’t you, _Jayee?”_

Hoover felt his blood pressure rise. “Stop calling me that,” he snapped. “Only _very_ close friends call me that.”

The imposter’s expression darkened. “I’ll just bet,” he muttered. “Well, _Mister_ Hoover, your night of reckonin’ has come.”

“You take Halloween a little too seriously.” Hoover picked up the phone and dialed Security’s number. “Hello, Hanson? Get your butt in here…” He swore. “The phone’s dead!” He slammed it down. “How’d you cut the wires without being seen?”

“I didn’t cut anything.” The imposter lifted the ancient cigar to his lips and began to smoke it.

“That thing’s 26 years old!”

“Tastes fresh to me.”

The imposter leaned against the doorjamb, his entire body projecting insolence.

“You’re awfully cocky for a man who will serve time in prison for breaking-and-entering.”

The smirk was beyond insolence.

“That’s what they all say.” The imposter’s expression darkened. “You won’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re a pretty fair hand with blackmail, aren’t ya, Jayee?”

Annoyed that the imposter had used his private name again, Hoover snapped, “You are extraordinarily bold, sir.”

“You’re no shrinking violet, Jayee. Can’t be one myself.” His visage was grim. “You’ll pay for your crimes before this night is over.”

Hoover scoffed. “You’re talking nonsense.” He felt more confident now. “I don’t commit crimes. I catch those who do.”

“What do you call relentlessly hounding a man for years?”

“Good police work.”

“An innocent man, whose only crime was to love me.”

Hoover’s eyes widened as another man entered the room dressed in a white seersucker suit with a matching crisp fedora. His face was obscured by the Dillinger death mask that he held up.

“So you’ve got a partner. Afraid to face me alone?” Despite himself he felt unnerved by the silence of the newcomer and what looked like streaks of blood on his suit. “You two are really sick. Give me back my trophies…”

“They aren’t yours!” hissed the imposter, Hoover taking a step back. “My glasses aren’t yours, my cigar isn’t yours, my gun isn’t yours…and my Sunshine isn’t yours.”

The imposter lightly laid a hand on his companion’s arm and the other man lowered the mask.

“Melvin!” Hoover gasped.

“That’s right, suh.”

The voice was as smooth as Southern whiskey, the man’s beauty hauntingly familiar. Liquid-dark eyes, sad and hollowed, bored right through him.

He didn’t like that feeling.

“This is really twisted!”

The Dillinger lookalike stepped forward. “No, _you_ are twisted! You hounded this man to death after years of malice! Your envy ate you from the inside out, over Mel’s success as an agent, because his star was shining brighter than yours!

“And your jealousy was even worse. Mel loves _me_ , not _you_ , and you couldn’t handle that, so you made his life a living hell.” He came closer. “You put your hands on my man, Director, and when he rejected you, you vowed to destroy him. He was already grieving for me and you made his life even more miserable, a living hell, hounding him to the end of his days.” His eyes snapped with anger. “And now you’ll be welcomed into hell.”

“Speaking of hell…what the hell are you talking about?” Hoover growled.

“Your soul is rotted, J. Edgar Hoover, with malice and envy. You’ve destroyed untold numbers of lives and will continue to do so with your blackmail and persecution and twisting things to suit your ends. You took away the years Mel and I should have had together! You should be brought to your Night Of Reckoning, Director.”

The rage contorting Dillinger’s face was terrible in its majesty, and suddenly Hoover was afraid. He stepped back, the candlelight wavering. He tried to still the shaking of his hand.

He loathed fear in himself and lashed out, pushing the candle forward. “Stay away!” he snarled. In the flicker of candlelight he thought he saw blood running down both men’s faces but when he blinked it was gone.

“Johnny…” said Melvin softly.

That show of concern for Dillinger enraged Hoover further. Old feelings he’d thought long-buried surged up in him again, and he stepped quickly past Dillinger (he didn’t know when he’d started thinking believing they weren’t imposters) toward Melvin.

 _His_ Melvin.

Beautiful, exotic, and who _should_ have been his all those years ago.

“Melvin, you know you don’t want to throw in with this gangster. You never spoke ill of me. You know about decency and civility. You’re a true Southern gentleman.”

The dark eyes widened, then narrowed so quickly, that Hoover was surprised. His Melvin was tentative, a worrier, not a decisive type.

Anger blazed from his mild-mannered former agent, his eyes like twin coals of fire, hauntingly eerie.

“Once upon a time I thought you decent and honorable, too, suh, but you proved me wrong! You advocated mistreatment of the prisoners in our care, torturing them, like Mussolini and his Black Shirts! You blackmail good and decent men to hold onto power with the grasp of a miser.

“And you tried to force yourself on me more than once. You repulse me.”

“Melvin…”

“No!” Melvin moved forward. “And once you knew what I felt for Johnny, you made sure he would not leave the Biograph alive.” Hatred burned in dark eyes. “Your Night Of Reckoning has come, suh. You will hurt no one ever again!”

Hoover could feel Dillinger moving in behind him. He must be dreaming. He’d fallen asleep at his desk reading the juicy information in his file folders, and he was dreaming this whole thing, because Dillinger and Melvin couldn’t be here, they were both dead, one for 26 years and the other since last February. There were no such things as ghosts!

He reached out a hand and jerked it back when it passed right through Melvin, suddenly noticing the swirl of light around what he’d thought were bodies.

“This must be a dream,” he muttered.

“Not a dream, Jayee,” said a sibilant voice behind him. “Your eternal nightmare.”

Dillinger came into his line of sight and grasped Melvin’s hand. He nuzzled Melvin’s cheek, his Melvin smiling with sparkling affection at the gangster, Dillinger turning back to Hoover with a predatory smile.

“He’ll _never_ be yours. You took the respect and admiration he had for you and threw them both away. That will be one of the regrets you can ponder through eternity.”

Flames began to leap up and curl around Hoover as a black maw opened up around him, cries of the damned spiraling up from the depths, Dillinger’s smirk and Melvin’s angry yet sad-tinged eyes filling his vision as the death mask was pressed down upon his face and he screamed…

& & & & & &

_“Halloween is the night when the veil between the worlds is thinnest, when the living and the dead converse, when light turns to dark and back again._

_What scares us in the dark of night often falls apart in the light of day._

_Or does it?_

_When Clyde Tolson arrived in his boss’ office the morning after Halloween, he found a display case filled with Hoover’s fedora, tie, and badge._

_Inside the office everything was as it always was, except for the dropped candle and holder on the floor and the death mask on the shelf…that bore the terrified features of J. Edgar Hoover instead of the serene face of John Dillinger._

_Revenge served up by… **The Twilight Zone.”**_

  


[](http://xyz.freelogs.com/stats/d/deathmaskpe/)  


[](http://www.freelogs.com/)  



End file.
